The Promise of Draco Malfoy
by Kinnu
Summary: Draco Malfoy is a highly powerful wizard, trained in Dark Magic, Occlumency and Legimency, but this fact is unknown to the world. As he escapes from Azkaban and kidnaps Neville, it is clear he wants something. And he now needs Hermione Granger to help him keep the only promise he has ever made. What happens when he finds out he is a Veela as he tries to fulfill his vow? Dark Draco.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling, I would give you Harry Potter and its characters, but it's not mine to give.**

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><p>I can vaguely hear a voice calling my name as I am pushed- manhandled- into a room.<p>

_Malfoy. Draco Malfoy. Draconis Lucius Malfoy._

White walls. A chair. A magic-proof door.

Tinted glass. So they can see me. Merlin, damn.

Three guards. One behind me. Two at the door. Three wand touch-repelling charms.

No escape today. Double damn.

The sound moves in and out of my eardrums, withering away as I strain to hear it and returning full-fledged when I let it go. My eyes remain blind as the rough blind-fold chafes at my skin, my nose frozen as the noise thunders in my ears.

As the ringing in my ears abates, I hear more clearly and realize I am to be interrogated.

Again. After nearly two years.

Two years of alone-ness. Alone-ness. Not loneliness. Never that.

Clearly noticing my regained wits, I am not allowed a moment to myself before I am bombarded with questions. Seeing no harm, atleast no further harm-'What more can they do?-in answering their questions, I resign myself to it. Quite.

_Who are you?_

Voice hoarse from months of un-use, the first thought I can voice is-

I was death once.

_Doesn't it creep up from the corners of your soul and keep you up at night?_

It does not bother me anymore.

_Do you give any allowance for life and love, in your heart, cruel though it may be? _

Love, life and death are synonymous for me. Aren't they the same, albeit in different ways?

You die when death comes to you.

You die every time you peek to see whether death lies in wait for you in the corners and narrow alleys.

You die a thousand and one deaths when you feel love fizzle out, slip through your fingers.

But death? Do not belittle it, for it reigns over all of mankind, never to die, lurk or leave.

_You are delusional, if you think death has summoned you to bring that fated end for others. There is certainly no justification in taking other's lives, seeing it leeching out of their bodies, and deriving a perverse pleasure doing so. Such work is best left to fate. Don't you have any shred of conscience that prickles you for all the wrong you have wrought? Don't you have any conscience, that nags at you to try and right the crimes you have committed, or at least, apologize?_

No.

_No?_

No. How is fate any better? Does it have that 'consent' you speak of from death for the purpose of pulling lives out of men, 'consent' I haven't procured? It is just as me, perhaps more fickle. A bringer of justice, unknown, not understood by mere mortals. Death is not direct, but it comes for you. Just as divine intervention, it reaches you in different forms, but the one that drags you away, un-willing, or maybe not, is the way you least suspect. It betrays that fragile trust you placed in it to not pull you away. Is it not as guilty as I am then?

_What is your valued opinion on core values then? Surely, it is a fictional idea to you, far away from your reach, never to spare a thought for. You have no virtue to speak of, no habit someone might wish to emulate, no skill to unveil when questioned about yourself. Well?_

Core values have no shelf life. First is always integrity, but I do believe you will beg to differ with me on my interpretation of moral principles. You are absolutely right when you say I do not spare a thought for them. If you have to strive to inculcate those 'values', then they did not belong to you to begin with, and in the utter end, you will be left with only that which you had in the beginning of you time. Then, why, must you delude and strain yourself, only to have your heart cut open in your last moments, wide open for all to see, as they notice the lie upon lie, to conceal all that you never were and never will be? Is it not prudent to stay as you are, redundant to be what you are not? To be or not to be, is not the question. The question is, who to be?

_I guess by now you should know enough about loss to realize that you never really stop missing someone-you just learn to live around the huge gaping hole of their absence? Or have you ever lost anyone you love at all? Forgive me; I'm sure you do not believe love worthy of you._

If you have a brother and he dies, do you stop saying you have one? Or are you always a brother, even when the other half of the equation is gone? There is no hole, for no one has vacated that place. It is always full- full of emotions, feelings and yourself. For when somebody is a part of you, you surrender a part of yourself to them. Numbing the pain of the edges of your unfinished mosaic for a while will make it worse when you finally feel it. Then again, anyone who has lost something they thought was theirs forever finally comes to realise that nothing really belongs to them. And when that someone leaves the world, you start to gather the pieces of you they left behind, trying to fit them into the puzzle that has become your life. It is better that they leave, for it is truly then that you discover yourself.

_You wish for people close to you to die? I definitely don't feel welcome in your inner circle. Isn't it so much darker when a light goes out than it would have been if it had never shone?_

You aren't invited in anyhow. It is also much brighter after the tunnel of darkness, where your eyes smart at the mere memory of sight, but then, you have to blink at the intensity of light out of the gloom.

_Do you have a contrary answer to every question I ask?_

I do.

_What would you like on your tombstone when you die?_

Before I die, I'd like to clarify that I have wished for death to ferry me across the land of the living by anything except my own hand. But in all its glory and my cursed luck, I shall perhaps have to swim across that river when I reach it, using not only my hands, but also my legs.

_Unfortunately, that is the best joke you have made so far and I have not been tempted to laugh. You haven't answered my question yet though._

I would have, if you had not ungraciously interrupted. Anyway, I'm hard-pressed to say, I've been dying to say, 'come sit by the fire and I'll tell you a heart-chilling tale.' Hear this once, for I shall not say it again. I give you the responsibility of having this written on my tombstone; if you ever remember this conversation and the person you spoke so candidly with. Even if the person didn't.

**And, in the end, this one was the last person left standing.**

_Indeed? I'm honoured to be asked such a favour and thankful to you._

I'm not.

And I rise, signifying the end of the last conversation I intend to have.

Certainly the last stimulating one.

Nearing the door, I take a huge breath, feeling the stale air of the interrogation room, though much fresher then the air I am accustomed to breathe. In my small, filthy, low-ceilinged cell, complete with a jute cot and a thin blanket. Nothing else for the prisoner.

And I abruptly stop, letting the guard bump into my back, his nose red from the frigid air, and now more so from the hit to my bones.

Turning my head just a little bit, I hear the faint sound of footsteps halt, waiting to hear my last words. Satisfied I have made an impression, I let a wry smile curve my lips, tinged with cruelty and I am sure the little reporter has seen it, from the tilt of my head and the gasp that escapes her lips.

Not wanting to give her the satisfaction of what she has waited for, I open the door and walk out, letting the guards lead me to my cell, taking a 'little' fall on the way- a broken nose and a few bruised ribs- from the revenge my 'guard' planned out.

I wince as I am thrown unceremoniously into the cell, my ribs taking the brunt of the impact. The iron bars close with an ominous click, no doubt from the many charms placed. Surely they are not dumb enough to not notice a more than a few charms missing?

Well, dumb.

They have no idea as to the extent of my skills and they do not realize that the man who bruised my ribs will not have ribs inside him in a few months. Or a few days.

Any ribs. They will be sticking out neatly out of his chest, for I do not consider myself a messy killer. A neat, ceremonious one, maybe. I might even leave a conjured flower woven into those ribs as a thank you for taking care of me. As I might have mentioned before, I can be merciful too.

Only when I am finally alone in my cell do I let a full smirk stretch my lips, utterly content with my work of the day as I wordlessly-wandlessly- heal my ribs. They will not be sending a nurse to heal my wounds and I do not expect them to. The knock-up certainly wasn't sanctioned by the Ministry but there is no doubt it will be approved of and the guards commended on a job well done.

But this will be the last I will think-or see- of my captivity for days.

Maybe months. Maybe years.

One can hope.

And he did have a promise to fulfil.

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><p><em>Hermione Jean Granger.<em>

_Her blood ran cold._

_She was cornered on the edge of a hundred-foot cliff overlooking the sea as the salt wind buffeted her._

_Under her feet, the weather had slicked the rocks, making her perch on the cliff side all the more perilous._

_Behind her, the sea stretched to the horizon. _

_In front of her, hundreds of snakes slowly slithered forward, pale eyes gleaming in the moonlight._

"_Stay back!" she screamed, choking on a sob._

_They halted their steady advance and stopped about ten feet away._

"_These cliffs are unstable. It's not safe." Her inner voice cautioned._

"_Safe?" she echoed miserably. "I don't know what that word means anymore."_

_At that moment, a loud crack split the air._

_She started to rush forward, but was too late. Before the shriek even left her lips, she fell-fell as the ledge crumbled under her weight._

She jolted upright.

Her heart slammed as the seconds dripped like the rain off the tip of her nose had.

She could still vividly see –in 'her' eyes as she looked at herself in the mirror, in that second of intense panic- that a hundred feet below, the sea yawned, waiting to swallow her.

This nightmare used to replay with startling regularity, almost every other night. In those early mornings and unexpected moments of dread and mind numbing fear, questions arose.

Not from her mind, the instigator of all things such, but her reflection. The reflection she unconsciously confessed everything to. The reflection, which listened, and never interrupted. Questions that had been considered but never given thought to.

"The renowned and the obscure, travel alike the road that leads to the grave. Can it be a calamity which is common to you with everything that lives on Earth? Why, then, must you do what you are doing today? What if another gets to that pot of gold at the end of the rainbow, accomplishes the task before you do? "

The days were filled with introspection and the nights with consternation, as she waited for her reflection to cast more questions on her already wavering self. She questioned all she had believed to be the foundation stone of life- life that she had, until then, lived. Slowly, over a period of time, as she sat with her hands around her folded knees, rocking gently on her bed almost every morning, listening vaguely to her reflection, a thought made its way into her mind-

Paths leading to the same road are different.

And she thought,

Two roads diverged in a wood, and I,

I took the one less travelled by,

And that has made all the difference. **(Robert Frost, 'The Road Not Taken')**

It was only her reflection that spoke, for she never uttered a word during their conversations. It knew—knew all that she thought, all that she felt. It was then that she also realized, with breath taking clarity, what, as she grew up to be the person she is, her heart had been trying to tell her all along.

Her reflection seemed smug that morning. It was a familiar expression with which she reacquainted her with that day. It said- I know that you know, but I know it better than you do.

"Life, a bed of thorn and roses alike is not easy but theoretically, simple. There are layers, on top of layers, inside the other layers and shades and shades of grey."

Then, as the days went on, she found her dream progressing further, to the realm, where, at least in her mind, hope existed. Because, then-

_Her hand desperately hung on to a rock on the ledge. The jagged edges cut into her palm as she held on, drawing on her reserves of strength._

The full fledged upheaval in her life became bearable, now that she had put the problem into its perspective, with the help of her unhelpful reflection.

She now waited for the mornings; for she believed she had slayed the demons in her head. And eventually,-

_With a heave of furious strength, still frozen to the bone, she gained the ledge and clambered onto the wet, hopefully solid earth._

_A lone snake glided across and stared measuringly at her shivering self. _

_Wearily, she __searched her heart to find out if there was any fight left in her._

Her reflection found a question that remained, "How do you now redefine yourself?"

She now knew how to answer.

There are three things extremely hard: steel, diamonds, and to know oneself. Knowing herself was the most difficult task of all.

Finally, one fine day-

_The snake considered her for a while and as though convinced, slithered into the deep woods, now faintly visible in the fog as the rays of sunshine loomed on the horizon. She followed, for she had now found her path. _

To her, the snakes had represented fears of the unexplored. Something she had conquered. Something she had her reflection to thank for.

_She whispered to the wind, _

_Hakuna Matata._

It took her a horrid nightmare and sleep worth several weeks but she knew now with absolute certainty that she was the source of her strength, so she can face the world without fear.

This realization was worth more than anything in the world.

_She had known happiness before but now having glimpsed the worst alternative, she realized she was perfectly content._

She has never had that _dream _again. Nor has she seen her reflection.

Sometimes, she wishes she never does again.

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><p><strong>AN: Please let me know your thoughts on the chapter... Review please!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling, I would give you Harry Potter and its characters, but it's not mine to give.**

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><p>Bed-time story-time...<p>

A mother and her two children snuggled under the colourful duvet in the children's room, full with splashes of ink, so full of life in itself as the mother began to look through the books, searching for one to read, but she knew what story she would eventually tell. Her children asked for the same story every night. Never another.

Perhaps they felt a kinship, an unconscious relation to the story- a story so similar to their own. Unknown to them.

"Please mum, I wanna hear the peacock and chimpanzee story." came a muffled voice from under the covers, from the 3-year old boy with blue eyes, wearing starry pyjamas as his year old sister, with the same eyes and wearing matching pyjamas, nodded, going along with whatever her brother had to say.

The woman, in her dark nightgown, beautiful but gaunt, content but sad, was a mass of contradictions. She sighed and began, as she began every night,

"Once upon a time...

_A peacock was strutting along the road when it decided it would take a clean, tidy and presentable animal with it to show its secret place. _

_The animals had been trying to find it for years but they failed every time, for the place was well-hidden and the peacock was too proud to share the tit-bit with anyone._

_So the peacock considered the animals that came in hopes of seeing the secret hide-out. _

_First was a pig, looking expectantly and hoping it would be chosen. As soon as it went near, the peacock suddenly swept back and sneered, "Don't you clean yourself? I can smell your stink from a mile away. There's no way I'm taking you with me."_

_The pig was disheartened by the peacock's words and it sat down to wait to see who would be picked._

_Second was a hippopotamus, dragging itself along to give it a shot. When it finally got there, the peacock turned its head away and said, "Mud-baths do not constitute baths. And I do not want a muddy animal like you to dirty my secret area."_

_The hippopotamus considered its skin, which was covered in mud, frowned and settled its huge belly on the ground to watch the proceedings._

_Third was a chimpanzee, nodding and acknowledging all the animals present before taking its place. It did not even acknowledge the peacock and was occupied with cleaning its hair, picking lice. The peacock decided such an animal was the perfect choice. It went nearer to the chimpanzee and said, "Hey, you're selected to see my place. I've never seen an animal so immaculate and self-groomed like me."_

_The chimpanzee slowly looked up and answered, "I know, peacock, that you have no secret. You are fooling all the animals and taking them for granted. I'm not paying you any attention because you do not deserve it. Self-grooming is not just about remaining neat and clean. It is about conducting yourself appropriately and moving in a social circle with grace and integrity. Did you even look at all the animals that showed up just because you made an announcement? You didn't. How do you imagine they feel? They feel neglected and unimportant. You are clearly not self-groomed, peacock."_

_With that, the chimpanzee gathered the other animals and took them all to his house to feed them fruits from the best tree._

_There were murmurs of assent all around as an animal noted, "The best groomed animal is the chimpanzee and it deserves our respect!"_

_Nevertheless, there was a baffling end to this situation, for the peacock and the chimpanzee turned out to be civil though no one knows how. And everyone wondered so._

_And it turned out the peacock was not lying about a secret place. It did have one._

_Neither of them would volunteer the story of their civility, no matter the persuasion or tactics employed. Granted that they were used on the chimpanzee and the peacock was never asked, for its reaction could never be guessed and no one wanted to belittle themselves._

_And the peacock, much to the surprise of all, now a little brought down from its perch of greatness- though it would take years for it to be nice to everybody- was polite, and downright civil with the chimpanzee, quite out of tune with its original and usual self, and took all the animals to its secret place. _

_The secret place was a nice alcove in the forest, surrounded by trees, their shade cooling the land from the sweltering heat of the sun, their fruits ripe and fresh, fleshier than any others in the jungle._

_The peacock, initially reluctant to share, was convinced by the chimpanzee, unknown by all but much to their delight. They praised the fruit and offered their own delicacies to the peacock, who managed to accept them all without an insult, thought they seemed to be on the tip of its tongue._

_Perhaps it had something to do with the chimpanzee's foot pressed warningly over the peacock's leg, as it received the presents. Though it was only noticed by the chimpanzee's wife, who was looking at its husband from time to time, unable to decide whether its husband was crazy mad or just amazingly charming._

_Oh yes, the chimpanzee had a wife. And a son. That no one knew about._

_Despite the number of friends the chimpanzee had, it had more than enough enemies, so its personal life was secret and no one knew about them._

_The peacock adored the son and pampered it senseless. cooed, did silly things and made faces, all for a kid. That certainly warmed up the wife and when she found out its husband was not just civil, but friends with the peacock, the two got on smashingly, much to the delight of the chimpanzee, who was relieved to not defend its unusual friend in marital fights, already at the height of it due to the secrecy._

_It was after such a fight and on a world-saving campaign of the chimpanzee that it defeated most of its enemies and was gravely injured, going into a coma, reducing the wife and surprisingly, the peacock to heart-wrenching tears. The peacock's best and only friend, the wife's only husband and the kid's only father was almost lost to them. Their only consolation was that they had each other. _

_Soon, they heard that the chimpanzee could be cured by erasing his memories of them, if only for a little while._

_They conferred and decided that it was better for the chimpanzee to forget them and live, than to remember them and die. So the peacock, the wife and the son, and the chimpanzee, lying lifeless went to find one who could erase memories for a short while. No one was told, for they slunk away in the middle of the night. Imagine the worry of the animals to find their saviour missing!_

_The four travellers walked and trudged, on paths untraveled and places undiscovered, for the centre of their hearts and their universe, the chimpanzee. The wife now found herself pregnant, and the child could take no more and so they settled in the next establishment they found. They let the peacock go on the condition that it would return to them as early as possible and they agreed it would be a few months. At most, a year._

_So concluded, the peacock was to go forward, taking the chimpanzee along. They finally found one to do what they must and the peacock was told to stay away for a while, and that the chimpanzee would be taken back to the forest it originally was in. The inhabitants were told to not remind it of its life and that it would come back by itself._

_The peacock, now going back to retrieve the wife and kid, was captured by the rest of the chimpanzee's enemies and sentenced to lifetime imprisonment. And since the chimpanzee lost its memory, it did not care for the peacock. And the peacock, caring more for its friend than its own well-being, a far cry from what it had once been, did not say a word._

_More than two years passed._

_The wife and two kids, a son and a daughter, lay in wait. Knowing the news but unable to travel alone._

_Waiting for either the peacock or chimpanzee to come and take them home. _

_To claim them._

_For the wife believed. She taught her children to believe._

_In hope. And promises._

The mother tucked her children comfortably into the bed, pulled the covers up to their chins and quietly left the room, closing the door. No sooner had she closed the door did she break down into a quivering mass of sobs, sliding down against the door and leaning her head against it, crying herself to sleep.

Crying herself to sleep as she did every night, against the door of her children's room, telling herself to believe.

To believe in hope. And promises taken. Given. Held.

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><p><strong>AN: I know this a short chapter but I wanted to make sure I update every Monday and let you know that I definitely will continue to do so. Even if the chapter is shorter, I will make sure you will have something to think about. Please let me know your thoughts on the chapter... Review please!**


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling, I would give you Harry Potter and its characters, but it's not mine to give.**

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><p>It was never going to be an ordinary day.<p>

Neville Longbottom was one the most celebrated herbologists and when he accepted the offer to be a professor at Hogwarts, there was no end to the joy that erupted in the halls of Hogwarts, among students and teachers alike. But Neville was coming back, not as people believed, to give back to Hogwarts what it had given him, but to find out more about that missing part of him he suspected he had.

You see, missing.

Missing.

He was unaccounted for during those times, none of his friends or acquaintances could attest to knowing his location during those times. In fact, they claimed that he himself had assured them of his safety when he went to visit his 'friends'. Friends no one knew about but heard of. Friends he couldn't bring himself to remember, no matter how hard he tried to, how much he tried to. He promised himself this was going to be his last attempt at finding that elusive part of himself. Perhaps he needed a little stimulation. A niggling feeling in the back of his head told him whatever it was had started at Hogwarts.

The Hogwarts term would start on September 1st and he had nearly a month to brace himself for what he felt would be one of the biggest revelations of his life.

He was currently walking along a path to the river, contemplating and assessing his current situation. He skipped over the stones and stepped over fallen trees littered along the way. He had no idea where to start searching for the truth, if there was something such as that.

Truth.

Did exist or was he having a post war disorder that caused him to have highly imaginative delusions? No answer for the unanswerable.

Lost in his thoughts, Neville accidentally bumped into a tree and then chastised himself for reverting to his clumsy behaviour, for which he was known for in his early years. Again, he did not know what had brought about this change and all his friends had commented on his abrupt change into maturity during their last year at Hogwarts. The Golden Trio had expressed the greatest surprise at his transformation, having seen the full extent of it all at once, and not as an evolved trait as the others had noticed.

Supposedly and not surprisingly, considering most of what he wanted to know was out of reach, he had never been known to reveal much regarding his change in demeanour, except that it was due to a secret friend, and not of the female version.

This new revelation he had a few weeks ago from Ginny's monologues which she had volunteered to help him trigger his memories has jolted him, more so than the fact that he had lost a part of his memories. He had had a best friend he could not remember and he could not bear that he had forgotten such an important person, somebody who had brought about a revolutionary change in his otherwise cowardly life. Just the idea that the friend-no, best friend- had slipped away or left behind, possibly because of his foolhardy attitude was grating on his nerves. They were stretched to their limit and he was having trouble finding the elusive sleep at night.

It was almost as if the end was near. The feeling of impending doom, dread for the unknown was mixed with the anticipation of unearthing his past.

And the intuitive feeling in his the corner of his heart and head wasn't going away.

The possibility of offering more than anything just to make sure he did not unwittingly betray such a friendship was rising to the forefront in his brain. He was pretty sure it was going to be the next step he was going to undertake in the new task he had assigned himself.

To rediscover . Himself.

And then his vision blurred. Just before he peered into a pair of clear, grey eyes.

Grey eyes with a rare but familiar twinkle visible in them, with a faintly bored and disinterested expression, as though daring him to figure out his seemingly complex thought processes.

As he had done before. But where did that thought come from?

His last thought was why such a thing was familiar to him and he gave a sound of surprise before he fell bonelessly to the rocky earth, bracing for the hit to the earth, but he was lifted effortlessly from the ground by two sets of hands. He could not move himself to notice the second man, for the first had captured his attention. He had known this man from before, hadn't he? Why couldn't he recognise him then?

A flash of memory hit him.

One with the man and him guffawing over a joke. Neville had stared at the man, and made an observation with a teasing smile. Laughing.

"I didn't know you would lower yourself to do such a thing as guffaw. It might be beneath you to do so, wouldn't it, my lord?"

The colour had leached out of the man's face, his face regaining his usual scowl as the man got up and turned to leave with long, unhurried movements. Neville had tried to stop him by trying to apologise but the man's raised hand had stopped him, his power very much evident in his movements.

Dangerous was the first thought that came to mind as he looked at his memory's version of the man.

The man had halted at the door, and without turning, he murmured, "You have done a fine job of belittling our evening, Longbottom, and I no longer have anything to say this evening. I have gone out of my way to sway myself from the path of one such as I. Because of the value I place on our friendship and the loyalty I owe you. Please consider that when we meet again. And do restrain yourself from laughter on such a topic at my expense. I have never minded the rest of you ill-motivated jokes, but this is a line I pray you will not cross. Until next week then. Adieu."

And the man had left, no sound breaking the taut silence Neville was sunk in as the door was shut silently with deadly intent, the man still clearly incensed, as was the way of the man. Restrained, but no less horrifying.

He had noticed because the man had been his best friend and confidant for a year. In a year of new friendships and traitorous betrayals.

Neville gasped as the man's face cleared in his mind and there was no doubt as to who the man was. He uttered the man's name as the blackness consumed him, dragging him deeper into unconsciousness.

"Draco Malfoy."

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><p><strong>AN: This is longer than the last chapter but I could not write anymore or it would spoil the suspense. Since I posted a day late due to irritating internet problems, I will post a bonus chapter in the middle of the week for my tardiness. Please let me know your thoughts on the chapter... Review please!**

**Colubrina:** Thanks...I hope you continue reading!

**Stormyshade: **Thank you so much for leaving such beautiful reviews on both the chapters! But you're wrong when you think the second chapter is about Hermione... The secret will eventually be revealed. Stay tuned!


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling, I would give you Harry Potter and its characters, but it's not mine to give.**

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><p>He had never had a friend before.<p>

Blaise Zabini wasn't his friend in any sense of the word.

Blaise Zabini was his brother.

They aimed to manipulate and lie to each other, if only for each other's good. They were quite similar to each other. So similar and well-tuned with each other that bluffing was a distant memory. They knew the other's quirks as well as their own. Perhaps better. They still skirted around important topics, letting their opinion go across subtly, understated currents forever flowing across them, the thin strands, crackling through the air, seemingly binding them to each other, as though daring them to suffer its jolting displeasure by even entertaining the thought of being apart.

But with his friend, it was not so. Each response was not carefully thought out, not orchestrated to evoke a certain response. It was natural and he was surprised by his own self, for he had never tried to find himself before. Every moment managed to keep him on his toes, keeping him scrambling to catch up, for perhaps the first time in his otherwise unfortunate, but rather monetarily fortunate life.

He had been so many other people that he had forgotten his own self.

Not anymore.

He would now be himself, proud to lead himself and his family name in a new direction, vastly different from their previous course.

And this had been the first step forward.

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><p>They carried the unconscious body into the bright room, light streaming in through the French windows, glinting off the edges of the fragile glass and intricate marble pieces set on the fireplace with Draco holding their hostage's legs and Blaise holding his head. They manoeuvred themselves to align themselves with the bed, taking care not to harm their hostage.<p>

They then deposited their burden on a four poster bed, carved pieces adorning its structure, its price invaluable. But the men did not pay such a thing any heed, for it was as normal to them as anything else. It was a result of the opulence they had grown up in. A result of their unorthodox upbringing, filled to the brim with the harshness of life and its devastating effects. So immense was its impact on their life that they never envisioned a future apart from what had been mapped out before they had even been born.

Shaking out the intensity of their thoughts, they stepped back from the bed and moved to the plush armchairs in front of the fireplace.

Before they could sink into the leather chairs, placed artfully so they would have a good view of the bed, reminding them of the man they had obtained, Draco turned to look at their captive for the moment. Blaise gathered Draco into an embrace as he swayed unsteadily on his feet at his first full glimpse of Neville, the man they had carried in. Unshed tears and unexpressed words between them remained as unsaid as the camaderie they shared, as Draco regained his control over his senses, the loss of which was an absolute rarity.

The two brothers- brothers in everything but blood- settled themselves and now held glasses of wine, unobtrusively placed in their hands by the house-elves.

The silence permeated the room, saying more than words could and revealing more than answers would. A single question stayed out of reach.

One word from Blaise Zabini broke the eerie silence of the afternoon laze.

"How?"

Draco was a picture of elegance and resigned boredom as pulled out a silvery ball out of his temple and levitated it to beside Blaise as a sip was being taken. No sooner did Blaise take a sip and place his glass on the table, conjured by a lazy flick of his arm, did the silvery ball plunge into his head, passing clean inside, transporting him into a memory. It was rather like a pensieve, except he couldn't move from the place he'd been delegated to. Blaise just about adjusted his eyes to the dark when he noticed a shadow move across the pathway.

_Draco Malfoy._

_He was wreathed in shadows and pure danger seemed to radiate from his very form. His harsh profile, accentuated in the black of the night, concealed from the sight of the guards, moved relentlessly through the corridor, pausing only to make sure a guard went down._

_To hell._

_He did not seem to care consciously about stealth, for it was his very definition. Darkness seemed to accept him as its master, for it followed him through the pathways and down the staircases. The stoic stillness of the air only shattered when he finally stepped out of the dilapidated prison, causing the metal rungs of the small gate, covered in rust and millions of cobwebs, no doubt from the many years of deliberate negligence, ring with the bells of freedom. Not freedom from prison, but confinement, for it was no more than that to him. He could have escaped a lot sooner and it was in urgency that he be out as soon as possible, but he had certain deadlines to fulfil, deals to honour. His brand of honour might be unconventional but no less significant or important than any other._

_As he walked away from the dilapidated prison house, he didn't look back._

_Not once._

_Because he never looked back. Ever._

Blaise was pulled out of it abruptly, and found himself back in his cushioned chair, his hand, supported by the armrest, with his head held in his hand, bent over.

That was when the conversation began. The conversation of a few, but one in a while.

It was Draco who started it. "Do you know what pain is? Something you feel when you are hurt? A human feeling one suffers when physically afflicted? That, my friend, is where you'd be wrong. Pain is nothing more than mental reactions, something our minds make us feel as a defensive mechanism. Ways to recognize something is harmful to our bodies and prompt us to cease and desist! "

Blaise had a heated argument to make. "If this is the case, then how can we suffer pain on a mental and emotional level? Be cast into a train of thought, exposed to a certain stimulus that causes our bodies to tire, wither and ache as if shards of glass were pushed deep into our skin?"

"Does that not seem irrational? How can thoughts and emotions, sadness, depression, anger and even love itself, cause us very real pain? Its madness isn't it?" Draco's smile was smug now, tinged with a taste of satisfaction.

Blaise caught that look and shared one of his own. Of amusement. "Perhaps that is the answer: madness. We, as creatures of thought, emotions and rationality, are all very much mad. We, as human beings, are irrational and thus we feel such things."

But Draco had a question left. "But is that such a bad thing? Is it wrong to be irrational?"

It was their destiny, they had thought once. Never their destruction.

Until Neville Longbottom.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Monday's here again! I will post another soon...You know, the one pending from last week, the bonus one? I'm working on it, promise. But I'll never miss the Mondays. Promise, like I said! Please let me know your thoughts on the chapter... Review please!**

**Stormyshade: **Thank you again for leaving such a wonderful review! This will probably not answer a lot of questions, but will heighten the suspense. Keep reading!


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